


this is how it works

by hajiiwa



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (as you do with kepcobi), Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mild emotional manipulation, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, pre-season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 17:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16330808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hajiiwa/pseuds/hajiiwa
Summary: The last few words are sharp and hot on Jacobi’s tongue and even if they would have burned, he instantly wishes he’d swallowed them. Kepler’s nostrils flare ever-so-slightly and Jacobi braces himself for a barrage of insult (and possible injury) but rather than his normal tirade, Kepler just lifts his chin slightly.“Alright,” he says, tone mild and cool. “But whenever you feel like joining us at the grown-ups’ table, your help will be greatly appreciated, Daniel.”Oh.That’s not right.





	this is how it works

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S MORE INTERESTING THAN THE TAGS MAKE IT SOUND I SWEAR
> 
> basically jacobi talks back to kepler and things do not go as expected. jacobi also thirsts a lot so enjoy that
> 
> extra points if you know where the title is from ;)

Daniel Jacobi was pissed.

It was a series of minor things, really. A few failed test runs here, a particularly agitating Eiffel there, and before he could take a few deep breaths, Jacobi’s sitting on his bed with his teeth gnashing against one another.

_ Breathe. Some of this has been out of your control.  _

“Shut up,” he snaps at himself. “I’m allowed to be mad.”

Mad at incapable subordinates, of glitchy autopilots, of faulty programming--

Jacobi rakes his hands through his hair. He’s alone; he’s allowed to be mad, to sort out his emotions before they affect his work. He’s certain, however, that he will rip the throat out of anyone that tried to disturb him at this point in time.

There’s a knock at his door. Jacobi forces his aching jaw to relax enough to allow speech. “Really not in the mood to h--”

“It’s me.”

_ Kepler.  _ Of course. The one throat he doesn’t have the jurisdiction to rip out. “ _ Sir _ , I’m not--”

“I don’t care what you’re in the mood for.” Anger simmers in Jacobi’s gut as the door slides open and Kepler, hands folded behind his back, appraises him with the value of a dog that had gotten muddy in the rain. “I have gotten multiple complaints about you today, Mr. Jacobi. Normally I would let theses petty thing play out on their own, but if this persists--”

“It won’t,” Jacobi mutters, “sir.”

Kepler is quiet for a moment. “Don’t interrupt,” he eventually says, voice a soft reminder, a warning. Normally the lowered tone would feed into Jacobi’s willingness to obey Kepler but now-- now that timbre splashes like gasoline over his smoldering annoyance.

Jacobi stands. “Listen, I don’t know what kind of mind game you’re planning to get me to sit back and twiddle my thumbs, but right now, I’m not having it. My shift is over and unless I’m called to attention for some life-ending emergency, I do not owe you or any of those morons a shred of my time.” He points toward the door. “And with all due respect, Colonel, I think you should get the fuck out.”

The last few words are sharp and hot on Jacobi’s tongue and even if they would have burned, he instantly wishes he’d swallowed them. Kepler’s nostrils flare ever-so-slightly and Jacobi braces himself for a barrage of insult (and possible injury) but rather than his normal tirade, Kepler just lifts his chin slightly.

“Alright,” he says, tone mild and cool. “But whenever you feel like joining us at the grown-ups’ table, your help will be greatly appreciated, Daniel.”

Oh.

That’s not right.

Kepler’s response is enough to briefly slip Jacobi into a stupor as his superior turns, doors sliding shut behind him as he leaves the room. No lashing for his insubordination, no beratement, the use of his  _ first name _ ... it had been quite a long time since he had heard Kepler say it and he very distinctly remembers--

(The soft sheets that fold easy under his hands, the sharp inhale cut off by a hand pressing to his throat, the murmuring voice in his ear and strength, surprising and shattering, that sends him keening and moaning and scrambling for touch--)

Jacobi swallows. That  _ had  _ to be intentional, he just doesn’t know what Kepler had in mind when he said it. What was he supposed to do? Follow him, apologize? Beg not to be castrated or thrown in solitary?

It’s only after he’s laid back against the bed in contemplation that Jacobi notices the hot anger in his gut replaced with confusion and mild uncertainty. The power that Kepler has over him, even in  _ one word _ , has an inky feeling slinking through his veins. Jacobi isn’t completely sure he hates it.

***

Kepler’s strange behavior plagues Jacobi for weeks-- one thing that does not plague him, however, is Kepler himself. When not addressed to in a group setting, he can count on one hand the words Colonel Kepler had spoken to him. Whatever reason he had for not punishing Jacobi for earlier had not yet been made clear, seeing as although Jacobi hadn’t exactly been treated warmly, he hadn’t gotten his pride stripped and hung to dry in front of the entire crew. That’s almost worse, in a way. The waiting.

It’d been a month. He’d tried talking to Maxwell about it, thinking that perhaps she would understand his confusion, but she’d just told him to count his lucky stars and not read into it. She did not react to Kepler’s use of his first name-- though the three of them are undoubtedly close, Jacobi’s uncertain if she was even aware of his one-and-done moment with their colonel.

Well.  _ Moments _ . Jacobi’s not sure how to sort and file some of his interactions with Kepler, but if at any point he had whimpered  _ Warren  _ through clenched teeth, then the instance is neatly tucked away for re-examination.

When he’s alone. Decidedly alone.

He tries to reach out to Kepler a couple of times, each time brushed off with annoyance or nonchalance. It drives Jacobi mad-- they don’t have time for trivial battles of will like this, the half dozen or so of them floating and slowly rotting away in space. One day, he decides to put an end to it. If subtle hadn’t been working, he would have to go for obvious.

Kepler’s in his quarters that night. Jacobi had only seen it a handful of times, the thought of the Colonel’s living space still seeming bizarrely foreign to him, tiny hints of personality or preference tucked away into neat corners. 

He knocks. “Enter,” comes Kepler’s calm voice a moment later and the doors slide open. Jacobi makes sure they shut behind him.

Kepler himself raises his eyebrows. He’s sitting on his bed, halfway through taking off his uniform jacket. “Ah, Mr. Jacobi,” he says, the slightest bit of surprise coloring his tone, “to what do I owe this… unexpected visit?”

“I’d like you to tell me your game,” Jacobi answers. “Sir.”

There’s a short stretch of silence. “Game?” Kepler echoes, slowly continuing to disrobe. “Mr. Jacobi, I am not a child. I do not play games.”

“No, game isn’t the right word.” Jacobi purses his lips. “Your… scheme. Why you’ve been ignoring me for the past month and a half.”

Kepler’s laugh is short and mocking. “ _ Ignoring  _ you? Are we middle schoolers on the playground, Mr. Jacobi? Do you need a moment to think of what it is you’re actually trying to say to me?”

Jacobi bites back the annoyance. “I raised my voice to you,” he says, clipped. “I was… disrespectful. I want to know why you didn’t punish me.”

Kepler’s head tilts. Jacobi’s eyes very briefly flick down to the cut of his jawline. “You don’t think I just wanted to give you a break?”

“Frankly, sir? No, I don’t.”

“Hm.” Kepler smiles just a little and stands, advancing toward his closet and neatly hanging up the jacket. “This hasn’t been… plaguing you, has it, Daniel?”

Fuck.  _ Fuck  _ this. Jacobi should just call quits and back out now. “It, um… no, it hasn’t,” he says, cursing the waver in his voice, the pleased little smirk that now graces Kepler’s mouth, his decision to even come here at all.

“Somehow I don’t believe that.” Kepler is moving, now, walks closer and stops directly in front of Jacobi. He surveys him with cool, slate-grey eyes that Jacobi has to force himself to meet-- looking at Kepler can be hard. Jacobi is only five years his junior but Kepler’s hair is tinged with grey and his eyes expertly hide exhaustion and regret (not to mention that Jacobi is very, very gay, and the Colonel, Kepler,  _ Warren _ , has aged well and the veins on his hands are distracting and the curl of his lips can punch the air from Jacobi’s lungs.) “Why are you here?”

Jacobi takes a deep breath. He hates this, he should tap out of this and save his own dignity. He didn’t realize he’d been staring off at the wall until Kepler’s fingers on his jaw guide his eyes back to center. “Answer the question, Daniel,” he says, and whatever stupid game he’s been playing at kicks into gear in an instant because Jacobi feels his resistance fall away. 

“You,” he answers, staring directly back at Kepler and swallowing. “I’m here for you, Warren.”

It’s the little things that remind Jacobi of Kepler’s covert humanity, like the slight widening of his eyes Jacobi can only notice due to their proximity. Kepler lifts a hand and it presses to the back of Jacobi’s neck, grip firm and warm against his skin.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

***

Face pressed into Warren’s neck, Daniel lets himself go. 

His nails bite into the expanse of Warren’s back-- deep, lazy thrusts make Daniel give a heavy sigh and tip his head back, eyelashes fluttering, bare chest pushing upward.

When Warren leans over him and rests their foreheads together, he smells like sulfur that clung to his skin from fireworks and fresh air. When Daniel’s inhale morphs into a gasp he smells like the cologne Warren had been wearing when he’d first been approached at that bar, questioned by a stranger, a mystery to him.

But this-- this is no mystery.

This, the harsh grip of Warren’s hands on his waist and the hard rise and fall of his chest, leaves no room for misinterpretation. Daniel reaches up with both hands and grasps at Warren’s hair, mussing the neat salt-and-pepper locks, tugging him closer so he could slot their mouths together.

The older man huffs a quiet laugh against him, shifting to brace a forearm against the wall. “Needy,” he comments, as if he didn’t already know that. Jacobi grunts.

“Just shut up and kiss me like you mean it.”

***

It’s quiet. Jacobi has his eyes closed just to take in the silence, the comfort. Kepler hasn’t yet kicked him out of the room, through using either a thinly-veiled excuse or just flat out telling him to leave. It’s nice-- Kepler’s fingers are running through his hair and Jacobi’s got his head resting on his colonel’s (surprisingly, unsurprisingly) muscled thigh. He opens his eyes and peers back to catch Kepler’s gaze.

“Was this your plan all along?”

Kepler has the audacity to look uncertain. “Pardon?”

“The lack of punishment. The ‘ _ Daniel _ ’. Was that all calculated just to get me here?”

Kepler hums. Over the years, Jacobi has gotten used to the quiet, contemplative noises-- it’s pleasant to hear when it isn’t followed by an insult or a ridiculous order. “I’m not sure how I should respond to that.”

“Just a simple yes or no would suffice.”

“Would it? Then I could ask you the same thing.” Kepler tips his head, eyelids flicking in a slow blink. “You could have chosen to wipe those pesky thoughts from your mind ages ago, but you held onto them with an ulterior motive.”

Jacobi sighs. “Must there always be an ulterior motive involved with you, sir?”

Another hum. “I suppose not,” he says, and rather than removing his hand completely he slides it down to Jacobi’s jaw, fingers rubbing under his chin and along his neck and throat.

It feels nice, but Jacobi wasn’t used to being petted. “I am not a dog.”

“Hush.” Kepler crooks his fingers under Jacobi’s chin and smiles when he falls silent. “There’s a good boy.”

*** 

Jacobi falls asleep. He doesn’t remember when, doesn’t quite remember why he wasn’t booted from the room the second his breathing had grown shallow, but Kepler’s warm touch had made his eyelids droop until sleep had wrapped her hands around him and tugged him away from reality. He doesn’t dream-- a relief-- but of course, he wakes up alone.

He’s in his own room.

Disappointment blooms in his chest the instant he realizes it. He’d secretly been hoping that he would wake up next to Kepler (annoyingly roused by an alarm, yes, but waking up next to him regardless), be able to see his colonel when his sharp edges are rounded off from sleep and the previous night’s satisfaction. Jacobi wonders if they would’ve touched, if Kepler would have traced his jaw and squeezed his sore hip and kissed forehead.

Jacobi sits up and fumbles around for his alarm, sighing to himself.

Wishful thinking as always.

**Author's Note:**

> i seriously love wolf 359 so much,, i hope to also write for the bright sessions and the adventure zone (eventually) so apologies if podcasts aren't your thing :^) otherwise hope you enjoyed!


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